


Blush Pink, Blood Red

by QueSeraAwesome



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe- Agent South Dakota Lives, Alternate Universe- Captain South Dakota of Chorus, Best Squad, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Felix Being a Dick, Femslash February, First Kiss, Lesbians in Space, Past Relationship(s), Pink Squad, Regret, Tall Lesbians, chorus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 10:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5925013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueSeraAwesome/pseuds/QueSeraAwesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain South Dakota has a a lot of things she has to live with these days.<br/>This time will be different. Chorus will be different.</p><p>A follow up, in the same universe as in "Bit by Bit."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blush Pink, Blood Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anneapocalypse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anneapocalypse/gifts).



“You two are _so_ cute,” Felix coos, cyanide sweet.

“I will kill you.” South keeps doing her checks on her pistol. She may need it in a moment.

“It’s absolutely darling,” Felix continues, flipping one of his knives. Check that off as reason five hundred fuck-all that she hates him. Fucking knives, it had to be fucking knives. “Romance in a war torn world. Love blossoming between a soldier and a superior officer–”

“I will pay Kimball to let me kill you,” South repeats, ice cool. Years ago she’d have blown up by now. Years ago she still had a fuse and something to burn.”Month’s wages minus living expenses. How much you think your life’s worth, merc?”

“You say that like you’ve never been paid to kill before this gig.”

She smiles, the same way Felix smiles when things go right for them for a change (despite the heavy casualties, he only smiles like that when there’s heavy casualties.)

“Freelancer.”

The word rolls off her tongue; the shape of it in her mouth is like an act of violence in itself. That was a long time ago, the scars have healed but sometimes she still feels like she’s pulling her stitches.

“Forbidden love,” Felix continues, as if never interrupted at all. “Say Mani-feek and all that French shit. Maybe after the war you two can visit Paris.”

South growls a warning. She’d love to bounce his head off the rock they’re perched on. She can imagine the sound of the crack in her head, how she’d flip the pistol upright, plant a bullet straight through the back of his skull.

To anyone else, they probably look companionable. Sitting in the sunlight, chatting, doing weapon maintenance. Oh, look. The mercenaries are _bonding_. Helmets lying at their feet and everything, what a sign of trust. (A nonchalant challenge to go bareface. It’s easier to read someone’s eyes than their visor.)

“Let’s figure out your couple name,” Felix says brightly, “I vote for DakotaBall.”

“We’re not a couple, assface,” South retorts. “Don’t start that shit. I don’t need rumors floating around.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Felix’s voice drips with patronizing glee, “That’ ship has sailed. The rumors are floating. Everyone from here to the Fed boarder knows you’re in love with your Lieutenant–”

South sets down the pistol with a snap. Runs a gloved hand through her hair, pulling it to her crown before letting it fall back, the strands getting caught between her armored fingers.

The layers framing her face swing into view, mocking her. Bubblegum pink. She wasn’t thinking when she’d made the request, was thinking even less when she’d done it. All she’d known was that she couldn’t wear purple anymore, and she felt too faded going colorless, the blonde of her hair fading in front of her eyes into nothing.

It’s amazing how a bit of pink can brighten the rest of you right up. Color theory, or some shit like that.

“Don’t let the enemy see those,” Felix says, leaning forward to tug on the pink lock curling under her chin. They keep eye contact, don’t blink the entire time. “Might give them ideas, how to get to you.”

She was a twin, once. She remembers what it is to protect someone, before he took that from her.

“You touch her, you’ll regret it.”

His helmet tilts, that predatory tick he can’t quite hide.

“I said, the _enemy_ , South,” he says, the comedy dropped out of his voice. “The one _we’re_ fighting,”

“Don’t try to kid me, you’re on no one’s side but your own” South says, avoiding his eyes. She picks her pistol back up, grip deliberately casual. He wouldn’t here, in front of everyone. Can’t fast-talk your way out of everything. “I know a snake when I meet one.”

“And I’m a snake,” Felix repeats. The knife shifts in his grip, a tell, or maybe not. Hard to tell with this one. He’s so twisty his bobs have weaves.

“Fucks of a feather flock together, Sunkist.” And you both need to get off this ride before it takes you somewhere without a return ticket. “We’re not a thing. I’m her CO, it wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Oh don’t start with me about appropriate,” Felix jeers. “I’ve heard your fisting story. And you’ve called Kimball ‘Sugar Mama’ like three times now. ”

He raises his eyebrows so high it makes that eyebrow piercing of his look painful.

South sighs. She can’t even enjoy the things she’s proud of anymore with this fucker around.

“At least I’m not banned from speaking to Doc Bones unless I’m confirmed to be bleeding,” South retorts.

“She’s not very happy with you either.”

“Psh, Lady Bones loves me,” South insists. She bends to pick up her helmet. “I’m a fucking delight.”

“Yeah. Is that why you’ve been on her shitlist for the past week?”

“Nah, she’s just mad because V and I stole a packet of condoms, blew them up like balloons and left them in Palomo’s bunk.” She pulls her helmet on, blinking as her eyes adjust to the HUD. “It’ll blow over.”

“Where you going?” he asks, watching her holster her pistol. The knife flips again.

“Find Cooke,” she replies. “See if I can’t get hir to give up Lady Bones’s birthday so I can get off the shitlist.”

“Good luck with that.”

South grunts a reply and sets off at a jog across the quad.

One thing she’s learned on Chorus is, nobody bothers a CO who’s jogging. If an officer’s moving faster than a walk, they got somewhere to be. They’re busy and you leave that shit alone. It’s become her go-to method of getting from point A to point B without having to fend off snotty-nosed baby soldiers with awkward questions and adoring eyes.

A training field over she finds Volleyball seated with some soldiers from the other squads, arguing. South catches her eye and she doesn’t even hesitate, makes her goodbyes and falls into step behind South.

“What’s happenin’ Boss Lady?” she asks and South doesn’t flinch.

“I need to talk to you,” she says. “Somewhere more private than here,” she adds when Volleyball opens her mouth. She closes it, eyebrows knitting together.

“There’s a little alleyway between armory 3 and 5,” she says. “Nobody’s got any reason to be there.”

South nods, heads in that direction.

The space between the armories is indeed alley-narrow, shadowed by the buildings on either side. The sounds of the camp spill in around them, muffled but ever-present. It’s as private as they’re going to get around here.

“What’s going on, Boss?” Volleyball asks. “Trouble?”

South looks at her and remembers the reflections off the knives, the quick fingers. Remembers that desperate fuck in the Freelancer bathrooms, how cold the porcelain of the sink was where she gripped it tight, because she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to grip _her_ tight yet. Remembers thigh by thigh, side by side, brown armor and that little hope. They never talked about it, and now she has to live with that. There are a lot of things she has t live with now.

“Boss?” Volleyball asks.

South takes a deep breath, brings up a hand to her helmet seals. The sweat cooling on the back of her neck reminds her she’s only had the helmet on a little while. She can feel V’s gaze on her, confused, and then hears the sounds of her helmet seals releasing too. Face to face. She can do this. Better this way. A lock of pink-tipped hair sticks to the corner of her mouth and she blows it away.

South takes a deep breath, and meets V’s eyes.

She can’t ask her. It wouldn’t be right and there are some things South still insists on doing right. V deserves the best of her, what left of it there is, deserves doing this right.

She can’t ask her. But she can show her.

South blinks and when her eyes open again she forces her mask down, lets it all loose. Lets everything she feels, looking at Volleyball across from her now, pour out of her. Eye to eye. Her dark, dark brown eyes, always glittering and reflecting everything she sees. Tangles of straight dark hair, pink lips, full eyebrows, sun-warm brown skin. Bubblegum pink accents, bubblegum pink in South’s hair, brushing her cheeks, the line of her jaw. Anjali. Volleyball. This person that she, that she _loves_. South swallows and doesn’t break eye contact, even when she can feel her cheeks heating and lets Volleyball _see_.

From the small sound that escapes her, a puff of breath, Volleyball understands.

Her bottom lip trembles, depresses like she’s biting it in some sort of indecision. And then she takes a step forward. South watches her approach like it’s something not happening, like it’s not South it’s happening to. V stops in front of her, only inches between the toes of their boots.

She doesn’t have to tilt her chin up. All Volleyball has to do is lean in, tilt her head. Volleyball whispers, “Yes,” against her mouth and South is ready for her when their lips finally brush.

This kiss is strawberry chapstick and chapped lips, too sweet for South to bear, but she goes on bearing it. It’s soft slides and gentle pressure, no push for more, just two pairs of lips, learning each other. If South shivers a little in relief, Volleyball won’t tell.

South remembers what it’s like to love someone, and lose them, and have regrets. She remembers what it’s like to look out for someone, to protect someone. And you can’t protect someone if you aren’t there. You can’t make their choices for them either, and Volleyball has made hers. South’s more than happy to honor it.

Anjali brings her hands up, fingers sliding up her jaw, into her hair. When they finally pull apart it’s with two smiles separating. Volleyball grins at her and South can’t help but grin back. Volleyball barks a laugh, sudden and loud.

“Fuck, Boss,” she says, shaking her head. “We are so totally boned.”

That startles a laugh out of her, and then they’re both laughing, South pulling her into a hug. Volleyball’s arms go around her waist and they’re hip to hip, chest to chest. Volleyball tucks her face against South’s neck and they can feel each other everywhere like this, shoulder’s shaking, diaphragms working.

And then they’re kissing again and it’s just as sweet with a touch of tang. Like biting into an orange, the acid sweet and sharp to the tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes. A ship made out of one canon-dead character and one that's never appeared on screen. Happy February, everyone.
> 
> queseraawesome.tumblr.com


End file.
